Old Enemies
by Browncoats and Floral Bonnets
Summary: In which Watson gets kidnapped by an old enemy-who happens to be the target of a certain MI6 agent. Season 2 spoilers. And Skyfall spoilers. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Sherlock

John frowned behind his newspaper as he heard someone coming up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson was on a holiday in Rome for the weekend, and Sherlock had gone out to buy milk.

"Back so soon, Sherlock? I don't suppose you remembered sugar, did you? ...Sherlock?"

There was no answer.

"Sherlock, for heaven's sake, why are you-" he looked up from his newspaper to find a gun pointed at his nose. "Oh, well this is just bloody brilliant, isn't it," he muttered. "What do you want? I hope you know my flat mate has taken all of my cash with him and anything of value isn't kept here. Haven't even got milk in the fridge."

"We don't want your money, Doctor Watson," the man said in a thick Scottish accent. "Stand up, please."

John stood with an irritated sigh, then kicked the Scottish man in the knee, wrenched the gun from his hands, gave him a mean left hook, and very calmly pointed the gun at the man's head.

"Now, what is it you want?"

The man glowered at him from the floor and said nothing. His hand twitched and John gave him a swift kick to the ribs.

"Don't even think about it. People always seem to forget that I was a soldier once, and know when a man is going to try and disarm me."

The Scotsman's expression turned to one of confusion. "But I thought you were a doctor."

"I had my bad days!" John cried. "Now unless you want to see what else I learned in Afghanistan, I suggest you tell me what the hell you're doing here!"

The Scotsman opened his mouth to speak when the small sound of a silenced gun and a bullet in the back of the head interrupted him. John looked up in surprise. A tall, thin man stood in the doorway, a hat casting a shadow that obscured his eyes. He had a gun aimed at John's chest, and the doctor could tell by the neatness of the shot, the way the man handled the gun and himself, that he was not to be trifled with.

"Come, now, John. Look what you've made me do. I quite liked him. Oh, well. Drop your weapon now, and come with me."

"Who are you?" John asked as he set the gun down on the coffee table.

The man tipped his hat back.

"You," John breathed.

"Me!" the man answered cheerfully.

XXX

"Don't touch anything!" Sherlock snapped at Lestrade. "Just because my flat is a crime scene does not mean you get to touch anything."

Lestrade sighed. "Holmes, I'm just doing my job. You do realize you're a person of interest, don't you?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I was buying milk and sugar. I have the receipt right here."

Lestrade looked at it and nodded. "So you were. What about John?"

_What about John?_

Sherlock blinked. He had been so occupied with learning as much as he could about the victim that he hadn't stopped to consider what had become of his flat mate.

He looked again at the position of the body and the shot and examined the carpet closely.

"Well, it wasn't him," he told Lestrade matter-of-factly. "It was his kidnapper."

"His…kidnapper," Lestrade repeated slowly. "Watson's been kidnapped?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation. "Obviously. You-what are you doing? Calling him? That won't do any good, I've just told you he's been kidnapped!"

Lestrade ignored him. "You forget, Holmes, you are a _consulting_ detective. You can give me advice, but I do not have to take it." He stood with his hand on his hip and his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he hung up his cell in frustration and shoved it in his pocket.

"He didn't answer. I knew _that_ would happen. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go examine the security footage."

Lestrade frowned. "Security footage? There aren't any security cameras in the complex!"

Sherlock just gave him that mischievous, infuriatingly knowing look and swept out of the room.

Lestrade watched him go and muttered some rather choice words under his breath, his hands on his hips.

"You guys want to get this body out of here?" he said to no one in particular. Sherlock Holmes was quite possibly the most infuriating man on the face of the planet, and it was no wonder that Watson had gone and gotten himself kidnapped, having a flat mate like that.

XXX

John watched as his kidnapper paced back and forth, wiggling his hands uselessly in the handcuffs behind his back.

He cleared his throat and the kidnapper looked up. "Question, doc?"

"Um, yes, I do have one. I thought you worked for Moriarty and, well, he's dead now. So who are you working for now, Mr-"

"Okay, okay," the kidnapper interrupted. "One: I didn't work _for_ Moriarty, I worked _with_ him. Two: for your information I'm not just a hired hand. I'm working on me own now. Three: Enough with all that _mister_ stuff, John. Just call me Sebastian."

"Well, Sebastian, only my friends call me John. So I'd prefer if you called me Doctor Watson. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but are you going to tell me what the hell you want with me?"

Sebastian stopped mid-step and smiled at John, a wide smile that showed all of his teeth. It reminded John somewhat of a shark and he shuddered.

"What do I want with you? I want to work with you, John! Sorry, Doctor Watson. You and I, two veterans out of place. We don't fit in. We both know that the only way Scotland Yard is able to catch any of the higher-end criminals is by consulting your friend Sherlock Holmes. If he's out of the way, you and I, we would rule this city."

"Sorry," John said with a shake of his head. "But a life in the shadows doesn't appeal to me. Besides, Sherlock is my best friend. Did you honestly think there was any way in hell that I would betray him? You're as mad as Moriarty was."

Sebastian's expression grew dark. "I really was hoping that you'd see my side of things. We could have done great things. But if you're not with me, then you're against me. And if you're against me, I have no reason to be nice."

"Is shooting someone in the head in my flat, holding me at gunpoint, and handcuffing me to a chair to listen to your psychotic ramblings considered nice?" John asked, seething.

Sebastian's mouth twitched and he punched John in the face hard enough to make his head snap to the side.

Memories of the war began to creep into the front of John's mind, and he felt the hard demeanor of a soldier taking over.

"You haven't lost it, Colonel," John said with a bloody smile.

"I'm not a colonel anymore, and this isn't Afghanistan. You may be wishing it were in a while, though," Sebastian growled.

"I'm a soldier, Moran. I've been wishing I were back since I left," John answered coldly.

XXX

He didn't know how much time had passed, but in that time, John had gone from being a soldier to being the lonely, uncertain shell of a man he'd been when he'd first arrived in London.

Spirit and body were broken and battered, and he found himself slipping in and out of consciousness.

"You're a stubborn bastard," Sebastian said from the corner of the room. "I can see you fighting it. Fighting death. You must have something you're holding onto. I'm just wondering what the hell it is."

John knew what he was holding onto. He was holding onto the hope that a certain consulting detective would hurry the bloody hell up, because John was losing a lot of blood and he was tired of getting the life beat out of him, and damn, there went his consciousness again.

There was a loud bang as someone entered the building they were in.

Sebastian shot one more look at John and picked up his gun, leaving the room to go face the intruder.

XXX

"Hand over Moran," Lestrade demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, detective inspector," the man answered. "I'm taking him in on orders from M."

Lestrade blinked. "Ah. You must be 007. On your way then."

Bond smiled. "Good day, Lestrade."

Lestrade wondered how in the hell the MI6 agent knew his name, but decided maybe it was best he didn't know.

Sherlock had gone looking for John, and finally found him in a room on the third floor. He ran to his side and felt for a pulse. His heart quickened as he realized the danger his companion's life was in and called for an ambulence.

Sherlock undid the handcuffs and tapped John's face gently.

"Come on," he muttered quietly, even though he knew it was a silly thing to do. "Come on, John!"

He was surprised when John's eyes fluttered open.

"Sherlock?" John whispered.

"Yes! Yes John, it's me, very good! I need you to-"

"It's about bloody time," John interrupted before he broke into a fit of violent coughs that shook his shoulders and spattered the floor with blood. He frowned. "Bugger. That's a bad sign." His eyes rolled back and his head lolled and Sherlock yelled at the paramedics who had just entered to hurry and come before he reported them for poor job performance.

XXX


	2. James Bond

"So. Sherlock's an interesting fellow."

Q looked up and smiled. "So you met the other Holmes boys, did you?"

Bond nodded. "Sherlock-well he's bloody brilliant-maybe too much so for his own good. And Mycroft is quite…" He stopped as Q gave him a stare. "…charming," he finished lamely.

The corners of Q's mouth twitched and he let out a laugh, and Bond joined in.

"You know the family's got to be in quite a state when _I'm_ the most socially apt. My brothers, they…Well. You've met them now, so you know," Q said once they'd regained their composure.

"Yes, I know," Bond replied. He paused for a minute, then: "We got Moran."

The mood darkened quickly, smiles vanishing, the air almost growing colder at the mention of his name.

"Yes, so I've heard. He's a dangerous one. Even my brothers agree, and you know the sorts they've dealt with in the past."

"We've got him in maximum security. M sent someone in to speak with him."

Q straightened up from the computer he'd been tinkering with. "What sort of someone?"

"Someone trained especially in the art of procuring information."

Q scoffed. "I'd hardly call it _art_," he murmured.

Bond gave him and inquisitive look, but Q ignored it and went back to working on the computer.

"Do you have-"

"I'm working James," Q snapped. He didn't try to hide his irritation. He had known what working for MI6 would mean. He had known the kinds of things they did when they had to. And he had decided to work there anyway, because-hell because he was bored!

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

**Sorry for the short upload! But the way I want the story to be set up and to go required it. The next one will be longer, I swear! R&R, please!**


	3. Bondlock

John sipped at the smoothie Molly had bought him and gave her a grateful smile. "This is bloody delicious," he muttered. "Best thing I've had in ages." He looked around the room with a small frown. "Where's Sherlock?"

Molly shrugged apologetically. "I don't know. He ran off a little while ago saying something about getting you a better doctor."

John closed his eyes and let out a loud sigh. "Oh, good lord. I can't imagine what kind of horrors he's stirring up."

"Don't be silly, John, yes you could. You just don't want to."

A smile twitched at his lips. "Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock swept into the room, his scarf (which he was wearing indoors-John wasn't sure why) blowing out behind him. His eyes flicked over John and he gave an approving nod. "You're looking quite improved. Glad to see it."

"Excuse me," someone said. John looked around Sherlock at the man standing in the doorway. He was well dressed, in a grey tailored suit and a black tie. "Can I have a moment with the doctor, please?"

Molly blushed, and the man smiled at her, making her face go a few shades redder. Sherlock, however, didn't move.

"Come on, Holmes," the man said. "You know you can trust me."

"Wrong. My brother can trust you. I know no such thing."

"Sherlock!" the man said sharply. "You know I'm on orders from M. Now I suggest you vacate the area before I have to remove you myself."

Sherlock gave him a particularly nasty look, then left the room. The man coed the door behind him and pulled a chair up to John's bedside.

"Who the hell are you?" John asked.

"I'm the one that detained Sebastian Moran." He reached out his hand. "You can call me Bond. I'm an agent for MI6."

"MI6," John repeated. "It's about time you got involved. Except that Moriarty is already dead, of course."

Bond's eyes flashed, but he didn't make any other response to the jab. "I need to know what exactly Moran wanted with you."

"Yes, well, I'd like to know too," John muttered.

"What did he tell you he wanted?" Bond asked.

"He said he wanted me to work with him. And…oh yes. He mentioned removing Sherlock from the equation. Wait-why are you asking me all this? I thought you had him in custody. You could just ask him, you know."

"You're more reliable, doctor. Besides, I had my orders. Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all?"

"Yes. He's dangerous, Bond. Extremely so. And he isn't afraid to get his own hands dirty. Be careful."

Bond smiled a little-not a friendly smile, but a practiced, measured smile. "Don't worry, doctor. We've got it under control. I'm glad you've recovered." He headed for the door. "Oh! And one more thing: Please tell Sherlock that I haven't been flirting with his brother."

John opened his mouth, and then shut it, completely unsure how to respond. A few minutes later, Sherlock walked into the room.

"Um, Bond had a message for you," John said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm rather confused by it-he said, erm, he hasn't been flirting with your brother. How does he even know Mycroft? Is there anyone on this planet that would flirt with Mycroft?"

"Oh, no. Not Mycroft," Sherlock said dismissively.

John blinked and furrowed his eyebrows, making the face he made whenever he was utterly confused. "What do you mean, no not Mycroft? You're not telling me-you don't mean there's another one of you?"

"Yes, I have a younger brother. You didn't know that?" Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised.

"Um, no, no I don't believe you ever told me that," John said with a bit of irritation.

"Well, I didn't think I needed to."

"Not everyone has your brain, Sherlock," John huffed.

"Very astute observation," Sherlock replied.

John shook his head. "When do I get to meet him?"


	4. Sherlock (2)

John was still a little sore two days after being released from the hospital, and he moved around rather stiffly. Well, maybe he was really sore. Broken ribs took a long time to heal. But he insisted on getting back to 'work' straightaway, being bored out of his mind and ready for action. _Because getting kidnapped by a crazy sniper and being beaten to death wasn't nearly exciting enough,_ he thought to himself.

He was aware of Sherlock's eyes following him as he went to the fridge for a cold drink, but chose to ignore it as he pulled it open.

He slammed the door again, he eyes squeezed shut.

"Good lord, Sherlock. Can't I be gone for a few days without you filling the fridge with body parts?"

"It's for my research," Sherlock replied. "Are you sure you're ready to get back into the world?"

"Yes, I'm sure," John sighed.

"Because no one would think twice if you-"

"I said I'm sure, Sherlock!" John cried. "What is it you're so worried about, anyway?" He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know something I don't?"

"There are lots of things I know that you don't."

"You know what I mean."

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, I do. And no. I was just noticing how stiffly you're moving and thought maybe another day of rest would do you some good, that's all."

John gave him a long look, then sighed and sat at the table, picking up the newspaper, seemingly satisfied with his flat-mate's answer. He scanned the paper, searching for something interesting, when his eyes landed on an article. He frowned at it.

"Sherlock," he called. "Have you read today's paper?"

"No," Sherlock answered. "It's dull and uninformed. Why do you ask?"

"Because…" He paused. He wasn't sure if his theory was right, but if it was, it could mean trouble. Sherlock was watching him expectantly. John sighed. "Because I think our friend Sebastian sent us a message."

Sherlock sat up. "Give me that newspaper."

John took it to him and pointed at a section in the 'Letters to the Editor' section. "There."

Sherlock's face grew more and more concerned as he read it. "I think you're right, John. Hand me my phone. I'll text Q."

"Q?"

Sherlock nodded as he typed. "My younger brother." He hit send and picked up his violin. "I hope we aren't too late."

XXX

**Okay, I am so so so so sorry for the huge break. I swear I'm not trying to be mean, you guys. Thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully the next (and possibly final) chapter will be up before too long! Please, please, PLEASE write me some reviews! Spur me on! (:**


	5. James Bond (2)

Q read and reread the text. "Shit," he muttered, scrambling to his feet.

Bond looked over at him. "What is it?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Q was already heading for the door. "This is not going to happen again."

Bond jumped up after him, gun in hand. "What's going on, Q?"

"Moran is going to try and make an escape. I can't let that happen again."

"_You_ can't let it happen again? You were hardly responsible for-"

Q stopped and looked at him. "You can say what that all you want. But if I had been paying more attention, I could have-and then M would be…" he trailed off, avoiding making eye-contact with his silent partner.

The rest of the walk-quickly turned run- to the prisoner containment cell passed in an awkward silence. By the time they arrived, Q was a little out of breath. Bond cast him a sideways glance as he caught his breath.

"You should have to take the field tests," Bond said.

But Q wasn't listening. He'd frozen, his face hard. "He's gone," he finally said. "And my guess is that his inside men are gone with him. Or dead. _Damn it_!"

Bond crossed the hall and was about to hit the panic button, but Q stopped him.

"No. It won't do anything. He's got help, Bond. He's smart. Strategic. We can try to go after him, but he's out of the facility by now. Hitting the panic button would let everyone in here know that something's happened. Most people don't even know Moran is-_was_-here. We'd have a lot of explaining to do."

Bond checked to make sure his gun was loaded. "Q. Get a track on him. I'm going to get him."

Q didn't hesitate, running to his precious computer and typing furiously as James undoubtedly ran to one of the sleek cars parked above. It didn't take long for him to realize that it would be nearly impossible to find Moran. But he refused to give up.

And then-

"Bond. I found him. _Shit._"

"What?" Bond asked.

"He's gone."

"What do you mean _gone_?"

Q shut his eyes. "I mean he's on a flight to America gone. And you know once he lands there-"

"I know," Bond said. "Bloody hell."

XXX

**Again, sorry I made you wait so long! And thank you so much for those of you taking the time to review. It really, really helps! For all those of you following-hang in there, guys! ;)**


	6. Bondlock (2)

"So…he's gone? There's nothing we can do?"

Q sighed. "I'm afraid not, Doctor Watson."

John looked down at his hands. He was sure Sherlock hadn't missed it the last couple of days. The slight tremor that had returned after so long. Moran had brought with him memories and emotions that John had long ago buried. That combined with his having to settle down for a bit was bringing back the itch he'd had when Sherlock Holmes and he had first met.

"We could follow him."

Sherlock resisted the urge to scoff. "We can't, John. He's already in America. There's nothing we can do now unless he decides to come back."

John didn't mask the annoyance he felt. "Damn. I really wanted to bring down the bastard myself. Now who's going to get him? The CIA? Bloody Americans can't tell their arses from their elbows!" He shook his head. "Does Mycroft have any, you know, connections?"

Sherlock and Q exchanged a look.

"What? What is it?" John asked.

"Nothing. Q! Isn't it time you got going?" Sherlock said, swinging his slippered down from the table.

Q stood, clearing his throat. "Er, yes. You're right, Sherlock. Look at the time! It was nice meeting you, Doctor Watson."

"Um, yes, you, too," John replied as Sherlock ushered Q out the door. "What the bloody hell was all that?" he asked once Sherlock had closed the apartment door.

"I don't know what you're talking about, John."

John rolled his eyes.

XXX

Mycroft waited impatiently while the phone rang. Finally, someone answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, secretary. I've just called to cash in an old favor," Mycroft said.

There was a slight pause. "What can I do for you, Mister Holmes?"

"There's someone on a flight to San Francisco. Sebastian Moran. I need him detained and then I'll send in my men to question him. He's dangerous. I need someone whose ability I can rely on."

"You mean…" the secretary started.

"Yes. I mean Hunt," Mycroft confirmed.

"I'll see what I can do."

XXX _Fin_XXX


End file.
